


No One Listening Tonight

by Smalls2233



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Murder, Sacrifices, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Warlocks, deceptive peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls2233/pseuds/Smalls2233
Summary: That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.----Stiles stumbles into a magical trap forged by a wannabe warlock.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 303





	No One Listening Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howls/gifts).



Something was wrong. It felt like the air itself was polluted with some invisible force filled with something awful. That was the first thing Stiles noticed when his Uber got close to the border of Beacon Hills. He had to hold back a shudder as the car continued driving and the uncomfortable feeling only grew worse and worse. There was nothing that he could see that seemed off, but the feeling still clawed at the back of his neck.

Stiles pulled out his phone and sent Scott a quick text, asking if any of the betas who were still in town had mentioned anything happening. It was hard keeping track of the territory when everyone was so spread out for college. Stiles was the first one back, his finals week was almost half a month earlier than the next closest packmate’s, and most everyone was too far from home for college to make trips back on more than their breaks.

Scott’s reply came back when the Uber pulled in front of Stiles’ house.  _ Liam hasn’t said anything… do u want me to come down this weekend?  _

_ Nah its chill something just feels weird…… ill look into it & see if i can figure out whats causing it _ , Stiles texted back as he climbed out of the Uber, bag slung over his shoulder. The relief he was expecting to feel when home wasn’t anywhere, only a looming sense of dread and discomfort.

It wasn’t helping that his dad was still busy at the station. A deputy had been shot when responding to a break in and Parrish was out for a police convention, so all of that meant that Noah was putting in more time to help cover for him. He had been looking forward to having a few extra hours alone in the day back when he was packing up his stuff for the summer, but now in Beacon Hills for not even fifteen minutes, he was dreading it.

Stiles shivered as he unlocked the front door. Even when he crossed the threshold into what should have been his safe haven, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling. He turned on the TV, hoping that the white noise of infomercials would cut through the wrongness, but it hardly masked it.

It wasn’t an actively malicious feeling, but Stiles would bet his entire savings that it wasn’t the sign of anything good. With the Nemeton lying in the Preserve and the strongest members of the pack gone, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if some dark mage or something was trying to tap into it.

“Fuck,” Stiles swore under his breath as he counted down the number of people in Beacon Hills he could count on to help out. There were the remains of the pack still in high school, but they were more of the muscle to fight a known threat. Mason would probably be a help with research, but the rest would probably get involved too and Stiles wasn’t so sure about that.

That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.

\----

“Stiles Stilinski, to what do I owe this… pleasure?” Peter looked down at Stiles with a look that was slightly more pleasant than pure and utter loathing. “I hope it’s important, it better be if you’re invading my home.”

“Peter shut the fuck up and help me,” Stiles said as he shoved his way past Peter’s arm and into the apartment. “There’s something going on in town and everyone else is out.”

“I honestly should be offended that I’m your last choice.” Peter inspected his nails with a frown. “Is my wealth of knowledge not enough for you? My expertise too lackluster?”

“You and I both know that it’s your personality that’s lacking. Now can you tell me if you’ve noticed anything weird in town over the last few weeks?”

Peter cocked his head slightly and raised a brow. “Weird, how exactly?”

“Weird like, I don’t know, like there’s a pressure weighing down on your shoulders, like you can hardly breathe the air because it’s so filled with something dark and tainted. When I crossed the border to the town it felt like my skin wanted to crawl off of me, it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“And does it still feel like that?” The sarcastic twist was gone from Peter’s voice, replaced with what Stiles could only describe as cold interest. 

“I can ignore it now, but if I focus on it, yeah. It’s less bad here especially, but the feeling’s still there.”

Peter frowned. “You shouldn’t be able to feel any magic here, I had my apartment warded by one of the strongest warlocks I know,” he muttered under his breath and stalked off towards his living room. His pace was so fast that Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet trying to keep up. “Can anyone else feel this pressure?”

“Liam, Hayden, Corey, and Mason haven’t felt or seen anything out of the usual. I’m the only one of the rest of us back in town for the next couple of weeks.”

Peter pursed his lips and hummed under his breath. “What about Parrish? He’s connected to the Wild Hunt and — aside from Lydia — the most sensitive to the presence of the dead or undead.”

Stiles shook his head. “Out of town for a police convention. You think this is something undead?”

“I think there’s a lot of things that it could be and I want to cover my bases. Argent?”

“On a hunt.”

Peter swore loudly. “Give me your phone, Stiles.”

“Uh? I’m pretty sure you have your own cell phone and your own plan. Use yours.”

“Your phone number isn’t blocked by Argent, give me your phone.” Peter held his hand out expectantly. Stiles briefly debated keeping his phone to himself, but he needed Peter’s help and trying to spite the man never ended well for anyone, not when spite was Peter’s game. 

“The last time I handed you something of mine, you destroyed it,” Stiles grumbled as he handed his phone over. He couldn’t lie, he was still sore over Peter crushing the keys to his Jeep over four years ago. He didn’t want his phone to get the same treatment.

Peter flashed him a brilliant smile, “Relax, sweetheart.” The look turned serious as Peter dialed in Chris’s number and brought it to his ear. 

It didn’t take long until Chris answered. “Wrong, it’s Peter… no need to sound so pleased, Christopher. How far from Beacon Hills are you? Well that’s just great, you can let the omega kill a few more people in Oregon, I don’t give a shit. Good lord, of course this is important. Do you think I called just so you and I could catch up? What am I getting at? What I’m getting at is that there’s something going on in town and right now the only two with functioning brain cells that aren’t busy are me and Stiles.” Peter made a displeased face as he continued talking on the phone, Stiles could only imagine what Chris was saying. It probably wasn’t anything too pleasant or polite.

“Again, let the omega kill some more people, there’s packs in the area that can handle it. Lovely, go fuck yourself, bye.” Peter handed Stiles back his phone and rolled his eyes. “As if an omega in fucking Oregon is more important than some unknown attracted to the Nemeton.”

“The omega that’s killed five people.”

“Who gives a shit? Stiles, sweetheart, what I don’t think you’re fully understanding here is that no magic in town should be getting into my apartment, I have it warded with spells some people would kill to learn. Yet not only is this getting past them, it’s also not triggering anything and the only one noticing it is you.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and appraised Stiles. “What  _ is _ it about you that makes you able to sense it anyway?”

Stiles shrugged. “Hell if I know, it could be something that wolves can’t sense. I mean, it’s pretty well known that Beacon Hills is werewolf territory so they probably didn’t want wolves to sniff ou--” Stiles cut himself off as a thought flitted through his head. “The mage, they’re masking their presence but I’m like a gigantic human nose right now. Or a wolf nose. Or, whatever, point being, I can sense whatever magic is charged in the area so I could maybe feel out where it’s the strongest.”

Peter hummed low under his breath and rubbed his chin. “I don’t think there’s any magic made specifically for werewolves to not be able to sense. I think this is just a subtle spell. I don’t want to just seek this out blindly, even if you can feel for where it’s strongest. Magic that’s this subtle and powerful is dangerous and I don’t particularly want to see the afterlife again.”

Stiles’ ears perked up. “What  _ was  _ the afterlife like? Let me guess, you were in Hell.”

Peter gave him a disparaging look. “Really, Stiles?” He paused and drummed his fingers along the top of his sofa. “I don’t remember what it was like, maybe there was nothing and my consciousness only returned when I was haunting Lydia or maybe your memories of it are stripped when you leave.”

Stiles had so many more questions he wanted to ask but he restrained himself. A grim smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he mused that if they didn’t figure out what the hell was happening in town, he had a high likelihood of personally finding out about the afterlife. 

“So what are we gonna do then? If we’re not gonna seek it out then I’m shit outta luck on ideas about what this is.”

“I have contacts that I’m going to call and you’re going to do some summer reading.” The look in Peter’s eyes was one of cold seriousness. He appraised Stiles and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “How far are you willing to go to protect your pack and town, Stiles?” He asked with just a hint of sardonic humor twinging his words. “I don’t leave loose ends, I took care of Jessica Blake when she was crawling back to the Nemeton and I  _ will  _ take care of this mage in the exact same way.”

Stiles swallowed heavily. He had known that Peter didn’t have the same views as Scott when he had driven over. Peter didn’t trust in the better side of humanity, didn’t trust that any threat could be restrained or reformed. Stiles wasn’t sure if he could be the one to deal the killing blow, but at the same time, “Scott won’t like it, but this feeling… it feels so filled with something evil and rot. I don’t think that Eichen House or anything could contain whoever’s behind this.”

Peter’s grip on his shoulder tightened as he shook it. “Exactly, but I think you could surprise yourself, Stiles.” The flash of white teeth could have been read as a smile, but to Stiles it felt predatory. “There’s a reason I offered to turn you all those years ago; you and I are alike. We’d both do anything to protect our pack.”

——

Peter’s library was something else. Stiles actually felt mad that he had never been in there before. He had always known Peter was probably the most knowledgeable person in the area when it came to the supernatural aside from perhaps Chris, but actually seeing his collection of books, grimoires, and ancient tomes was something else. 

But of course, that led to a new, unique problem. When Peter had led him to it two hours earlier, all he had done was point out an area where he said he had resources on dark magic and then he left. Sure it was great that Stiles didn’t have to search through all of the books, but there were at least one hundred thick books all on dark magic that he had to go through. The literally only things he had to go off of on the spell was that only he, a human, could sense it, it was strong, it was filled with malice, and it was massive enough to cover all of Beacon Hills.

Sure those were all pretty good tips, he knocked off dark pixies, necromancers making zombies, and spells that caused eternal darkness from the list pretty quickly, but that still left at least fifty million more options. Besides, he and Peter were pretty convinced it was a spellcaster, but there were still some crazy powerful supernatural beings out there that apparently had auras of fear that surrounded them.

Stiles groaned and slammed his head onto the desk he was sitting at. The book that had seemed so promising when he first picked it up and skimmed through it turned out to be another load of nothing. It turned out a lot of dark magic mostly contained spells on murdering people, conning people, and a whole lot more murder. There hadn’t been any news on a huge uptick of murders in Beacon Hills so he was pretty certain there wasn’t any Darach human sacrifice shit going on or mass murder spells happening. 

All of that made everything feel so much stranger to him too. Like, the only sign that anything was off was just a bad feeling that only he felt. It was validating that Peter hadn’t just brushed him off as imagining stuff, but still, there had to be other signs somewhere that could help lead to what was going on.

He stood up with a groan. Two hours had passed so hopefully Peter’s resources were able to provide some sort of better idea what could be going on. If not, he was just going to go back to his idea of being a human geiger counter and find the source of the magic whether Peter liked it or not. Like sure, it probably wasn’t the best idea to charge head first into the unknown, but that was better than letting Beacon Hills be destroyed.

“Do you know if there are any new teachers at the high school?” Stiles asked as he leaned onto Peter’s sofa.

Peter quirked a brow and looked up from his laptop. “Are you looking for a summer job? I’m fairly certain that being a school teacher doesn’t quite fit the bill.”

“No, jackass, my thought process here is that like fifty percent of people who supernaturally — and naturally come to think of it — tortured me throughout my high school years ended up being teachers.”

“Well, unfortunately for you I don’t bother to keep up to date with the employment status of Beacon Hills’ various high school teachers. But, in better news I believe I have an answer as to why you’re the one able to feel this.” The look of interest in Peter’s eyes as he spoke made Stiles uncomfortable. “What do you know about summoning rituals?”

“Which type?” Stiles asked slowly. He wasn’t exactly sure where Peter was going with this but it was bound to be bad.

“Demons, or the creatures that created the legends more exactly, I suppose. They’re a little like…” Peter paused, searching for words. “Actually, have you ever played  _ Doom _ ? Surprisingly enough, it’s a fairly accurate portrayal of them. There’s legions of them that go from weak and needing to band together to survive all the way to ones that are powerful enough to raze cities on their own.” 

Peter’s lips curled in amusement. “Humanity would be absolutely fucked if their legions were unleashed, but, it’s possible for mages to summon demons and bind them to take their power as their own — which is how warlocks are created.”

“So we’ve got someone trying to become a warlock?” 

“We’ve got an already powerful mage trying to become a warlock, yes, and to do that he needs to find sacrifices.” Peter grabbed Stiles by his chin and shook it lightly. “And by doing that he set out something like a magical spider web around town made to notify the mage of any human with a powerful enough spark that enters Beacon Hills. A web that you’ve stumbled into.”

Stiles blanched. “Are you saying that I’m a sacrifice?”

“No, I’m saying that you’re just so talented that you’ve somehow discovered an intricately crafted, nearly imperceptible spell that nobody else could,” Peter said dryly. “Yes, you’re now trapped in a web with two exits; your death or the mage’s death.”

“Have there been any other sacrifices made? Or is this not a Jennifer Blake type sacrifice mass murder spree?”

“I suspect that you’d be the only sacrifice needed, my warlock contact had to sacrifice three sparks but they were relatively weak. But you?” A smirk twisted the edges of Peter’s lips. “My dear Stiles, your spark was something small before the Nemeton but you’ve died and come back for it and even played host for a Nogitsune. Your death could probably serve as the sacrifice for a thousand demons.”

Well that wasn’t exactly what Stiles wanted to hear. So cool, he had some incredibly powerful spark in him that made him a tasty treat for sacrifices and did absolutely nothing to help him out in the job market. “I mean if he’s gonna be after me then all we need to do is make a trap. Lure him in with me looking all defenseless and then have you rip out his throat before he can think twice.”

“I was actually thinking about sacrificing you myself.” Peter’s laugh was too smug and nonchalant for Stiles. “Or maybe selling you, I might not be hurting for money but I could always use more.”

“You’re hilarious,” Stiles said, trying to convey exactly how un-hilarious he thought Peter was in that moment. “Now are you going to help me figure out how to not get murdered by some whack job or am I just going to lie down and rot?”

Peter patted his cheek condescendingly a few times and quirked a brow. “We need to work on your sense of humor. There’s plenty of people I wouldn’t mind being sacrificed, but you have too much potential for that to be anything but a waste.”

_ Too much potential _ , Stiles knew he had plenty of potential but he didn’t want to know what Peter thought his potential was in. Mass murder sprees? Impaling his ex in the sewers? Being the biggest asshole in a hundred mile radius? Yeah, no thanks.

“Take me to the Nemeton, saves us the trouble of the mage dragging you there and that’s where you’ll need to kill him.”

“Uh, Peter? I’m not the one with claws and fangs here.”

“You can use a knife, can’t you?”

“Yes, because I carry a kn— oh great you just have knives laying around. Why would I have expected anything less? What else do you have lying around, a long sword? Maybe some hand grenades?” Okay sure the knife Peter pulled out was a paring knife but last Stiles checked, people didn’t usually use paring knives on their coffee tables. 

“I doubt you’d be able to gut him,” Peter continued on, completely ignoring him. “The throat would be the easiest place for you to slice through I’d imagine. The carotid artery is the important bit to hit.” He tapped what Stiles assumed was his carotid artery with the tip of the knife and lightly dragged it across. The feeling of cold steel against his throat made Stiles swallow nervously.

“Or, new idea, just spitballing here, I’m the bait and you’re the one who does the killing, you know, a familiar, tried and true dynamic.”

“Cute.” Peter handed him the knife and smirked. “But no, you’re the one who needs to get his hands dirty if you want to stop feeling the lingering effects of the spell.”

Stiles met Peter’s eyes and stared into them, trying to see if he could see any deception in there. He didn’t trust that the answer was really as simple as he had to be the one to kill the mage so he would be freed of their web spell. But Peter was hard to read, expression so perfectly collected that he could be saying that the sky was green and he had never murdered anyone before and he would look exactly the same.

“You know if you're lying, the entire pack will gladly kill you,” Stiles finally said, keeping eye contact with Peter. “But right now I don’t have any options other than working with you.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Believe me or not, Stiles, but at the day I don’t exactly relish the thought of you dying at the hands of some wannabe warlock.” He pushed Stiles towards the couch and stalked off towards one of the hallways in his apartment. “Sleep on the couch tonight, we’ll make a move in the morning.”

Sleep didn’t come easily to Stiles that night. The couch was more comfortable than the cheap mattress that came with his furnished apartment back at school — hell it might have been even more comfortable than his mattress back home too — but he could have been sleeping on God’s titties and he still would have had a hard time falling asleep. The spell that he couldn’t shake was a heavy weight on his mind and the fact that he was laying in the den of a killer did nothing to ease his mind.

When he finally found sleep it was uncomfortable and restless.

——

The next morning, Stiles woke up to the smell of coffee and pastries from the cafe down the street. He pulled himself off of the couch, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes he had been the previous night.

“When did you get up?” Stiles asked as he grabbed the cup Peter wasn’t drinking from. He didn’t even question if Peter had done anything to it, too relieved to get some caffeine into his system to even think about pondering Peter’s motives.

“About an hour and a half ago. I like to go for a jog in the mornings and doubted you’d want to join.” Peter took a sip of his coffee. “Was I wrong?”

No, he wasn’t, but admitting that felt like losing to Peter. “Whatever, when are we making our move?”

“Eat your breakfast and then we’ll get going,” Peter replied. It was unfair how unbothered he seemed by the whole situation, but Stiles had seen how rattled he had been the previous night. Even if Peter was collected now, Stiles knew it was a mask the werewolf wore as easily as a second skin.

So Stiles drank his coffee and chocolate croissant without protest. Objectively, he knew they were of high quality, the cafe down the street from Peter’s apartment was one he had never gone to because of its price. But he could have been drinking the milk of angels and it would have tasted like sawdust in that moment. The coffee and bread sat like lead in his stomach, yet still he ate. He took his morning dose of adderall with the last dregs of his coffee and waited for it and the caffeine to kill the jitters he felt shooting down his spine.

“This is going to go down fast so you’ll need to be ready,” Peter said after several long minutes. “The mage could already be on his way here but I think it’s safe to assume he’ll sense you’re headed in the direction of the Nemeton. We could be walking into a trap he has already set up or he’ll come to us, ready with spells of his own to neutralize any threats.”

“So then I play the bait, looking alone and vulnerable, sitting on the trunk of the Nemeton and then bam you strike.” Stiles played with his empty coffee cup as he spoke, picking apart the paper with anxious fingers. “You beat the shit out of him and then I slit his throat, easy peasy.” The idea of slitting a man’s throat didn’t exactly sit easily to Stiles but he already had to resolve himself to it the previous night.

“Something like that,” Peter replied vaguely. He crumpled his empty cup of coffee and stood up. “Give me your keys,” he said, holding his hand out.

Stiles’ eye twitched. “So you can crush them again? Uh, yeah, no.”

“Your keys, Stiles.”

Stiles gritted his teeth and grabbed his keys out of his pocket before slamming them into Peter’s waiting hand. “Fine,” he spat out. The faster he got this over with, the sooner he’d be done dealing with Peter and he could just relax for the summer. That’s how he rationalized all of this to himself.

“Good boy,” Peter said, lips twitching in amusement in a way that made Stiles want to punch his perfect nose. But that would only end in Stiles having a broken fist and Peter’s face healed back to the same frustratingly handsome level as it had been before there could be any sense of victory felt. So Stiles settled for stretching out his middle finger as he followed Peter out the door and towards the parking lot.

——

The Preserve was silent, like all of the birds and rodents knew there was death coming that day. Stiles was painfully aware of how loud his footsteps were, old branches and dead leaves crunching underneath the soles of his feet with every step. Peter, on the other hand, was as silent as a prowling cat. Not exactly the most comforting presence.

But worse than the silence was the heavy feeling that got worse every step closer to the Nemeton Stiles got. The previous night, the air felt tainted but it hadn’t felt malicious. Now the air around him felt saturated with malic, ill intent was practically dripping from the leaves of the trees. Part of that might have been nerves wreaking havoc with his mind, but Stiles was certain most of it was from the spell.

“Either he’s already at the Nemeton or the spell’s anchored there,” Stiles said in a low voice. “Every cell in my body is screaming at me to run as far from here as possible.”

Peter hummed, “Both probably because even I can tell something is wrong now. I don’t think you can smell it, it’s so faint, but it smells like rot.”

He was right, Stiles couldn’t smell any rot but could feel it in some indescribable way. He wanted to make some joke about finding out if Peter was right or not, but when he opened his mouth it was dry and he couldn’t form the words. He had dealt with so many dangerous threats but this time felt different. He didn’t have the pack by his side, he only had Peter and they were going to confront something still largely unknown.

For all Stiles knew, Peter’s guess could have been entirely wrong. There was no guarantee that the threat was really a mage trying to become a warlock. For fuck’s sake, it could even be a goddamn demon just chilling at the Nemeton. But there was no option other than pressing forward to confront the threat and Stiles just had to trust that Peter didn’t want him to die.

“Try not to stab yourself with this,” Peter said as they approached the Nemeton. He handed Stiles a knife and he had to force his hands not to shake as he took it from Peter. “I don’t hear a heartbeat up ahead but they could be masking it. I’ll go with you to the stump to make sure nobody’s there and then fall back to wait.” How long they’d have to wait, Peter didn’t specify. Neither of them really knew how long it would be, maybe ten minutes or maybe the mage would never show up at all.

But Stiles knew that they were in the right spot, whether the mage would show up or not. The clearing around the Nemeton was empty but he could feel the way the spell that blanketed him was centered on the stump. He could almost imagine a massive stake pinned into the center of the Nemeton with poisonous tendrils stretching out from it to cover all of Beacon Hills.

Stiles sat down on the stump and looked up at Peter, nervously tapping the flat side of the knife against the back of his hand. “So just sit here until something happens then?”

“That’s the plan,” Peter replied as he headed back. His eyes were killer blue in the shade of the trees. His voice was tinged with mischief as he said, “If you're getting sacrificed, just scream, I’ll hear you.”

“That fills me with confidence,” Stiles replied dryly.

Peter just chuckled under his breath and disappeared with silent steps, leaving Stiles alone in the woods.

Despite the warmth of the day, the grove the Nemeton was in felt cold. The chill down his spine reminded Stiles of sacrificing himself to save his father, the cold embrace of death that enveloped him for hours as he searched inside of himself. It reminded him of the Nogitsune, when he was forced inside the cold sterile room of his mind, sitting on the same stump that he was on now.

“Yeah, this sucks,” he said to absolutely nobody. Now instead of just stressed out, he was bored on top of it. Boredom and Stiles Stilinski didn’t mesh well together, growing up it usually led to things like breaking into the sheriff’s station to see what his dad was up to or wiring together two electronics that probably shouldn’t have been wired together. Or, you know, going out at night to sneak into the Preserve to check out a dead body and accidentally getting his best friend turned into a werewolf by the same psychotic alpha who was now helping him out.

Fuck, his life was messed up.

Stiles tapped his fingers along the flat of the knife in an anxious rhythm and stared into the trees. He wanted to check his phone but knowing his luck, if he pulled his attention to that, he was going to get jumped by the mage. So he killed time by playing with his knife. It was a nice cheese knife, probably nicer than any of the knives he had back home — he and his dad didn’t even have a knife specifically for cheese. The fact that Peter so casually gave it to him to use in a manner that would probably mean the knife would need to be destroyed was just another flagrant example of the vast Hale fortune.

Honestly, Stiles thought it was an absolute waste of a nice knife, especially when Peter had claws that would do the job just as well or even better. As he sat on the stump and played with the knife, Stiles wondered how truthful Peter had been when he said Stiles needed to be the one to end the mage. What would Peter even get out of it? Maybe he wanted to see Scott and Stiles fall out over this. Maybe he just thought it was amusing to make others bloody their hands.

“ _ Shit _ .” speaking of bloodying his hands, Stiles sliced the tip of his thumb on the knife and bloodied his hands quite literally. He pressed his thumb against the inside of his jacket and put a firm pressure on it, trying to staunch the flow of blood. It wasn’t the first time he had cut himself with a knife — it wasn’t even the worst cut — but it was probably the worst timing. Now he was probably going to end up making the handle of the knife just bloody enough that it would slip out of his hands before he could do what he needed to do. How much force was even necessary to slit a throat?

Stiles was starting to wish he had asked Peter more questions on the fine art of murder. But it was too late for that so He just had to deal. 

He tapped the back of the knife against the stump of the Nemeton and sighed. How long had he been waiting for? Twenty minutes? It felt like twenty hours. The mage might not even come that day and he had no clue how long Peter would make him wait for.

He set the knife down on a leg and rested his hands on the stump underneath him so he could lean back and stare up at the leaf canopy above him. The leaves all shook in the wind, scattering the light, and it was almost relaxing to watch. Like zoning out staring at the static on tv, it nearly let him ignore the cruel pressure in the air.

He stayed like that for another half an hour before he heard a commotion in the distance. The trees muffled the sound so he couldn’t tell just how far away it was but he leaped up, knife at the ready. 

“Found the rat.” Peter walked into the grove with a predatory grin stretched across his face and dragging a thin, pale man in by his neck. The man’s arms looked broken and one of his eyes showed the early stages of becoming a black eye. 

“You sure that’s the guy?” Stiles asked. His grip on the knife was almost painfully tight but his hands weren’t shaking.

“Please, help me. He’s—“

Peter cut him off, “Oh it’s him, he absolutely reeks of dark magic. If you focus hard enough you should be able to feel the source of the spell on him.” As he spoke, Peter wrapped one arm around the man’s stomach and jerked the man’s chin up with his free hand, baring the pale skin of his throat. 

“Kill him, Stiles,” Peter ordered in a quiet but firm voice. “The faster you do it, the faster all of this is over.”

Stiles eyes flickered from Peter’s eyes to the pale man’s neck and then back to Peter. His hands still stayed steady but his heart was pounding. “I don’t know if I can do this, Peter,” he said. “How do I know that I can trust you? This could just be some dude who dented your car last week or maybe just your way of sowing discord in the pack.”

“Isn’t it a little late for the suspicion?” Peter snapped, sounding exasperated. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m not playing games with you.”

The man made a muffled sound and tried to kick back against Peter. Peter snarled and clenched his hand tight around the man’s jaw and the  _ crunch  _ of bone was loud. “I’m looking out for you, Stiles, I’ve always been looking out for you.”

_ Ah yes, because terrorizing me and my best friend sophomore year was looking out for me, and so was working with Kate Argent —  _ who burned your family alive  _ —just so you could kill the aforementioned best friend and steal his alpha spark, is absolutely looking out for me _ , Stiles wanted to say. What he actually said was, “I’m going to fucking neuter you if this isn’t the right guy.”

“Dog jokes, how hysterical and original. Now hurry up, I can only break so many of this man’s bones before he dies.” Peter sounded inconvenienced, like Stiles had spilled coffee all over his white shirt right before an interview, not like murder plans.

Stiles gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the knife. At the end of the day, trusting Peter to not be lying was less risky than walking away. If he walked away there would be a spell still looming over him signaling ‘Tasty Demon Sacrifice Option!’ and Stiles really didn’t want to be killed so some jackass could become a warlock.

The knife went into the man’s neck far more easily than Stiles had ever imagined it would. It was sharp, as he knew thanks to slicing his thumb open, but even then it felt far too simple to slice through flesh, veins, and cartilage. The blood came as he jerked the blade across the man’s neck, covering his hands and staining his shirt.

The knife slipped free of the man’s neck after cutting through a tendon. In the grove, the loudest noise apart from the pounding of Stiles’ heart were the dying gurgles as the man choked to death on his own blood. Peter let him drop to the ground and Stiles couldn’t stop staring at the way his jaw hung wrongly and the bloody gash in his neck.

And then the rush hit, it came so hard that Stiles stumbled back and Peter had to catch him.

“When I killed Jennifer Blake here, all of her power flowed into me,” Peter commented nonchalantly. “All of those sacrifices, all of her rage, everything she gained from it went to me. This mage might not have made sacrifices, but he had power. You had a spark but he had an inferno.”

“Peter,” Stiles tried to snarl but it came out weak, not entirely because of the way the rush of power seemed to sap the energy from his body. “What did you do?”

He felt the tingles of magic throughout his body. It was like whatever power the mage had lit up all of his dormant magic. Maybe that was why his muscles felt weak, he didn’t have enough energy to keep up with the now overloaded magic running through his veins.

“I took advantage of an opportunity that presented itself. I didn’t want a powerful warlock in town, I didn’t want you to die, and this was a way to give you more even ground to stand on.” Peter turned Stiles around and pressed him against a tree. “You have your brilliant mind.” He tapped his index finger to Stiles’ forehead. “But even with that and your baseball bat, you’re vulnerable. But now? Now you’ve taken the power of an incredibly powerful mage that I only manage to catch because he hadn’t anticipated to be jumped at the farmer’s market. You now have the strength that most supernaturals will feel.”

“You jum— you weren’t out for a run this morning?”

Peter snorted out a laugh. “I wasn’t leaving anything up to chance today, Stiles. You were at risk, that’s not something I’d play with.”

Stiles stared at Peter, trying to find any deception in his eyes or in his voice, but all he saw was open honesty. For some reason, he believed Peter. But still, “What’s your angle here, what are you standing to gain?”

Peter cocked his head to the side. “You know the answer, clever boy. A powerful ally? You’re certainly more willing to see the world my way than most of your pack. But that’s not really the reason, is it?”

A million potentials whirled through Stiles’ mind. Peter could have been looking for leverage, looking for a way to one up someone who was threatening him. But he knew none of those were the real answer, it was something far simpler, yet far more outlandish, than any of those.

“You want me,” Stiles said, barely above a whisper. He thought about that night in the garage all those years ago. “You always have.”

Peter brought a hand to Stiles jaw and lifted it slightly. “Will you walk away again?” His breath was warm against Stiles’s neck as he brought his nose to the pulse point. “Or will you stay, become mine?”

Maybe he was drunk on the power coursing through his veins. Maybe it was because none of this seemed quite real, not the corpse on the ground, the blood on his hands, or Peter’s nose on his jaw. But Stiles brought a hand to Peter’s waist and pulled him closer.

“I’ll stay.” The words were quiet but firm, a final step over a line that had plagued Stiles since he was 16.

As Peter brought their lips together, Stiles swore he could feel something crackle. Two powerful forces that had been entwined for years finally settled down. Peter was powerful, dangerous, and untrustworthy, but Stiles was his equal, just as smart, just as powerful.

One day, his choice might bite him in his ass, but in that moment, with Peter’s lips on his and Peter’s hand cupping his jaw, Stiles didn’t give a damn about the future. He was exhausted and spent, the electric crackle of magic settling down, but he was content.

Peter pulled away and ran a thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip. “As gorgeous as you look like this, covered in blood, I need to handle this body and you need to get clean.” He set Stiles down lightly onto the stump of the Nemeton. “I suppose you can do that back at my place.”

Stiles swallowed as unbidden images of just what exactly he could do back at Peter’s place flashed through his mind. “I think I’d like that.”

Peter’s answering smile was a predatory flash of teeth and Stiles realized then that the malicious pressure was off of his shoulders. He felt content, happy even, as Peter walked off into the woods with the corpse slung over his shoulder.

Fuck, he really hadn’t expected his summer to start like this, but somehow he couldn’t find it in him to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is super late LOL quarantine has absolutely fucked with my writing mojo so it's taken me a hot second to finish any fics... I hope you like this tho, howls!  
> I will hopefully be getting updates to my other fics out sometime soon, it's been way too long since I've updated anything


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